


Kissing Cassandra Pentaghast

by InadequateMaterials



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by a Movie, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Queer Themes, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InadequateMaterials/pseuds/InadequateMaterials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was searching for the perfect man, but instead, found the perfect woman.</p><p>Cassandra is a single, straight, successful newspaper editor who finds herself questioning just how straight she is when she meets the grounded but scintillating Amala Lavellan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pentaghasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just on a Modern AU bender of epic proportions. I was re-watching Kissing Jessica Stein, and like most things I watch these days, just had to cast Dragon Age characters. 
> 
> If you haven't seen Kissing Jessica Stein, it's an early 2000's era indie film that is seen as a staple in LGBTQ cinema, but watching as a queer adult (mid 20's means adult ack), there was so much about it that pissed me off. If you know the film and had issues with how it treats queerness, sexuality as a spectrum, bisexuality, and other LGBTQ themes please trust that I will not be falling into that.

_All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,_  
_From the lowest slaves_  
_To the highest kings._  
_Those who bring harm_  
_Without provocation to the least of His children_  
_Are hated and accursed by the Maker._  
  
_Those who bear false witness_  
_And work to deceive others, know this:_  
_There is but one Truth._  
_All things are known to our Maker_  
_And He shall judge their lies._  
  
_All things in this world are finite._  
_What one man gains, another has lost._  
_Those who steal from their brothers and sisters_  
_Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind._  
_Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart._

Cassandra’s head was bowed and her hands lay flat on the top of her thighs. She was listening intently to the Reverend Mother's words; the _Canticle of Transfigurations_ being one of her favorite sermons to hear and reflect upon. Her reflection on any harm, deception, and or any unjust gain she may have caused since her last Chantry visit was continuously interrupted by whispering in her ear. It was like a mosquito sneaking into her eardrum right as she was falling peacefully asleep. This mosquito just so happened to have given her life, and was now intent on giving her hell.

“Cassandra, look, the man wearing the blue tie with the dark hair. Isn’t he handsome?”

Her head moved not a centimeter. “I am not interested,” she muttered without emotion.

The buzzing continued. “It’s Jamie, remember him? He just divorced that Dalish girl from Ferelden.”

“He’s not for her,” whispered a deeper but similarly accented voice. “A divorcee? Our girl deserves better than a man with either bad judgement or poor commitment to vows made with the Maker.”

“He’s a very successful accountant and he regularly attends service! Why not give him a chance?”

Anthony, her older sibling who at times like these displayed his wicked humor, sighed lightly on the other side of her. “I can tell you right now, Cassandra won’t like him. He has no chin.”

Her mother’s sigh came out greater and louder. “Anthony, please don’t feed her perfectionism.”

“I liked Thomas. What happened to him,” said her father, as though Thomas was a lost sweater and not a man she dated for three months.

Anthony's chuckling rumbled at her side. “She said he didn’t have enough sex appeal.”

Cassandra bit on her cheek to not reply or make a characteristic noise of disgust. Thomas really didn’t have sex appeal, at least not what Cassandra would consider it to be. He wore white socks with black slacks and had constant razor burn bumps. She might have been able to look past the more artificial hang ups had he not possessed the kissing skills of a predatory jellyfish.

“Ah! Sex appeal! What is with young people today? Do you all want to end up alone? Matthias, your daughter will never be married if you keep supporting this nit pickyness.”

Her father finally joined her mother and brother with his own emotional sigh, but his was low and concerned. "We might have to speak about freezing your eggs, that's what women do now right? I talked to your Uncle about it. When they can't find a man to..."

Cassandra’s head jerked back to glare at every Pentaghast within a five foot radius. “Can you all shut up? I am trying to atone!” she yelled, causing the Reverend Mother to stop her sermon in shock.

The hushed whispers that rippled throughout the church after the outburst were followed by a loud “Shhhhh” from an old woman in front of them. Her mother glared at her with the same Pentaghast fury Cassandra had just exhibited. The old woman turned around without another peep and the service continued with the quiet reestablished. Cassandra took several steadying breathes and bowed her head back down. _I am trying to atone for past thoughts of harming people. I will not starting thinking of harming others while trying to do so…_

“That’s Cassandra right? Still unmarried?” said a woman's voice from behind her, in what could generously be called a stage whisper.

Anthony patted her knee for comfort and lowered his head to her ear. “You should have just said yes to getting set up with no chin divorce de dalish. Cass, one date wouldn’t have killed you.”

The Reverend Mother was nearly silenced again, but this time, by a loud and drawn out groan of disgust.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short introductory chapter, all chapters after this will be longer! Also, expect many DA friendship shenanigans. Lavellan's two best pals are Dorian and Iron Bull, it's going to be beautiful. 
> 
> I welcome comments, suggestions, thoughts, constructive criticism, and the like! Kudos are super appreciated, anything to know people actually want to see Cassandra as a lead in a late 90's indie romcom. 
> 
> Visit me! | http://inadequatematerials.tumblr.com/


	2. The Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! Just laying the foundation before it picks up. Any comments are appreciated, even if they just say "I am reading this and it ain't too shabby" But the kudos are amazingly motivating, thank you!
> 
> Also, any thoughts on how Cassandra's personality may differ based on having her parents and brother alive and well would be great! It's something I'm tackling here and I love hearing people's thoughts on characterization.
> 
> And seriously, has anyone seen Kissing Jessica Stein? I will rave about that with anyone in the comments section or my tumblr: http://inadequatematerials.tumblr.com/. Visit me!

She had been unable to control herself, the moment the word "pregnant" left his mouth she had thrown her arms around him. He hugged her back and gave a firm squeeze to her upper arms when she pulled away. Varric and Josephine gave side hugs to the man with their own exclamations. Merrill danced and cheered in place; jumping up and down. 

Cassandra had to keep herself from jumping in excitement. “I can’t believe it. You’re glowing! Afie must be ecstatic!”

Cullen was an old friend from University who had fallen on hard times after leaving the military. She had offered him a job at the paper as an IT consultant when he moved to the city. Her friend had flourished and was now Head of IT. Afie was a former classmate, who he had only reconnected with after being pressured by Cassandra to attend their High School reunion. The two had married a year after and now had a baby on the way. Cassandra couldn’t help but feel proud of Cullen, and of course, her meddling self.

Cullen barked out a dry laugh. “I think she would argue she's the one whose glowing. She’s happy, but not without complaints; no sushi, liquor, or the occasional cigar for nine months while I can do whatever I want with my body. And to add insult to injury I'm ambivalent about sushi, only drink beer, and hate smoking."

Varric chuckled and patted the father to be on the back. “Better live it up these nine months, once the baby's here you'll wish you cut loose. Afie's gonna want to make up for lost time once she's free of whatever perfectly formed baby diet she's on. I’ve got a bottle of the finest Starkhaven whiskey waiting for her once she pops out Little Curly."

The sound of their laughter, clicking of typing, idle chatter, and cups of coffee being filled were the typical soundtrack to her days. The Herald had defied the odds and stayed afloat in a time where the internet was seen as the sole frontier for news and information. She had joined the paper as an editor and occasional writer, almost five years prior, with the idea that it would be a temporary gig before engaging in a full time writing career.

This had not turned out to be the case, but she enjoyed her co-workers and the homeyness of their small brick building among the large skyscrapers popping up around them. She truly believed in the good work of the paper in keeping independent journalism alive, even if her boss was Max Trevelyan: her ex-boyfriend and complete pain in the ass. The man’s bitterness over his own creative failings was getting worse by the month, and his habit of taking it out on others work was becoming far too common.

After her friends had walked over back to their desks and respective responsibilities, Max wordlessly put a paper on her desk. She immediately saw the red lines all over it that rendered his editing process a bloody massacre. The damn coward had tried to put it on her desk and slink away with not a word of explanation. A noise of disgust left her mouth and she shook the paper at him before he could escape from her.

He ran a finger through his hair in irritated anticipation. The wavy chestnut locks she once ran her fingers through were now a greasy shell she wanted to dump a bucket of water on. Her eyes could barely believe what she had just read; her whole article on the life of an acclaimed activist on the anniversary of her death had been cut from a page to a measly paragraph.

“You gutted what I wrote about Divine Justinia. This has no passion or life or anything that actually represents what she was. She was more than four paragraphs of where she was born and where she died with no mention of what she represented to people.”

Max rolled his blue eyes and started to turn his back on her. Those eyes used to be like a clear fresh morning to her, but now they only reminded her of the sickly prescriptive color of aspirin. “It was a fluff piece; a love letter. It was like the article equivalent of going down on someone.”

She crumpled the edited paper and slammed it into her small trash bin. “You get to decide what is fluff and what is not? You dropped to your knees when you wrote about your favorite mediocre drunkard of a one hit wonder novella writer last week. You can put your name on that article; that lifeless thing is not mine.”

He reached into the bin to grab the paper. “Fine by me. Also, Pentaghast, have you been so in a rage you don’t notice your phone’s been ringing for a whole minute?”

She rolled her eyes, a far more scathing experience than Max could ever hope to produce, and turned to pick up her phone.

“Hello,” she said curtly, the rage Max had described was not completely out of her system

Her brother’s easy laugh greeted her on the other end of the phone. “Are we having a rough day?”

She took a breath and glared at Max’s back walking away from her. “It is fine. It is not like you to call during the day on a Monday. What is wrong?”

“What is wrong? The real question is what is right? Are you sitting down?” He said with more laughter after his questions. He sounded dazed and lost.

“Anthony, enough.” she stated sternly. He was now making her worry. Anthony was easy going but he sounded punch drunk.

She heard him take deep inhalation of breath. “I’m getting married!”

 She shrieked, making everyone around her jump and drop whatever was in their hands.

“Anthony! That is...wonderful! Married?! I’m so happy for you!”she exclaimed, louder than she normally would for personal business, but she wanted to assure the office that no one had died or been diagnosed with a serious illness.

He laughed in that same giddy way. “I just asked Ana yesterday. I am on top of the world! Please don’t tell Mom or Dad yet...”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. Her brother was getting married! Cullen was going to be a father. She felt full of joy and happiness for her friends but a little inkling of doubt entered her mind. It of course, sounded very much like her mother.

_She’s going to end up alone!_

 Was she ever going to experience the things she had helped her friends and family to find? The wedding would likely be in a year, and her hope had always been she would be with the person she was going to end up with at her brother’s wedding. Her current dating, the lack of it, made it implausible.

_Oh, merciful Maker, if I don’t find someone than mother will._

 That was enough incentive to date every soldier in the damned Ferelden army, including the mabari.


	3. Something Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to more drawn out chapters! 
> 
> Visit me! | http://inadequatematerials.tumblr.com/

Cassandra decided after the incident during church and Anthony’s good news to try dating more actively. Her last serious relationship seemed like ions ago and she had gone without dating for most of that year. It was such an exhausting and asinine process: the idle chit chat and small talk that signaled the date was a failure before it even began. Cassandra Pentaghast believed in chemistry; it took only a moment for her to know if it existed between her and someone else. This was a personal opinion, that most people around her thought was just an excuse to not give anyone a chance. She would try and not be so harsh and critical,as Anthony had advised her, going on a date wouldn’t kill her. 

The blame for the series of dates she endured could only be put on her. Anthony was the same person who had advised her to cure herself of hay fever by punching a tree. She had her right hand’s permanently crooked pinkie finger as proof of her brother's wisdom. Why in Andraste’s name, as a reasoning adult, had she trusted him again?

* * *

 

_**Date #1: Man who approached her at the gym, that she would typically just growl at for bothering her during sacred personal time.** _

“It was very brave of you to come up to me at the gym,” she said while holding and swirling the red wine in her glass. “I may never have had the nerve to do such a thing.”

Alex, the man who had nerves she did not, smiled shyly but eagerly. He was handsome enough with his short wavy blonde hair and closely shaved beard. “Yeah, I mean especially going up to you. You always seem so focused and intense when lifting weights or on the machines or on the treadmill. I thought you must be training for something.”

She felt more intrigued in him than she thought she would be; that hopeful confidence mixed with boyish eagerness felt genuine to her. Cassandra liked earnestness; it was a warm and endearing quality in a man.

“I really enjoy it. It is what clears my mind and eases my stress more than anything these days. I do the occasional marathon.”

He smiled more confidently and nodded. “I can see that, but I don’t do it to calm down. The way the way blood pumps and the sweat, you know? I love, like, the endorphmins. It gets me excited, you know?”

Endorphmins? He meant endorphins. The last sentence was perhaps an attempt to be sexy, and nothing was worse than a failed attempt at seduction. Whatever attraction she might have found in his confidence and energy sizzled out. The mispronunciation of words and tacky innuendo were very high on her unattractive qualities list. It was a long list, but the hierarchy was still important. She also could not stand all of the “you know’s” he peppered throughout his speech. No, she did not know, because he had not finished explaining what he meant before saying that.

The date continued in a similar fashion, his over eagerness and her trying to not appear disinterested.

She really did try, but after what had to be the fiftieth “you know”....

“Check please!”

_**Date #2: Business Professor from a local college who Varric set her up with** _

She ran into the dimly lit restaurant completely out of breathe from running there. The man sitting alone by the window with a rose on the table and a nearly emptied bottle of wine had to be her date.

“I am so sorry for my lateness,” she blurted out upon approaching the table with a hot flush spreading across her cheeks. She must look a complete mess.

The man, wearing a shirt unbuttoned to reveal his ample chest chair, eyed her body from her feet to the top of her head.

He whistled and winked. “You were worth the wait. I had heard you were beautiful, but you are Nevarran perfection.”

She turned on her heel and walked out the door.

_Fucking Varric._

_**Date #3 An accountant that volunteered his services at the Skyhold chantry she attended** _

Cassandra tried everything to keep her eyes open: biting down on her cheek, lip, tongue, and even fingers to keep from falling asleep. John had spent the evening discussing how he got into accounting and the little things everyone messes up when completing their taxes.

“I was impressed that you spend so much time volunteering at the chantry,” she interjected, finally catching a pause in his non-stop rambling. “It is a selfless thing to do.”

“Oh, not really,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulders. “My company gets to use my volunteer hours as a tax write off for…”

_Oh sweet Maker, he is off again._

She already knew the date was a failure, from the tax talk to fake volunteering it was just bad, but his attempt to split their bill based on how many bites each had of shared items, made her throw a hundred dollars on the table and leave without a sound.

She would have gladly thrown two hundred dollars on the table to get the last two hours of her life back.

* * *

_“It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical will live the relation to another as something alive.”_

_-Rainer Maria Rilke_

 

Cassandra had needed to read that quote again and ruminate, it connected to her more now than it had when she was a young woman in college. It had been easier then to be ready for everything and to exclude nothing, whether romance, friendship, or the things that were her passion. The last date had nearly broken her, and that wasn't even considering how she had basically paid for it to end.

It was curled up with a book by a favorite author in her favorite red armchair and wood burning in her chimney that made her feel most content.  If she could imagine her perfect lover, he would be like her, surely. The excitement of finding love in exciting places and spontaneous circumstances still appealed to her, but at the end of a long day, what she really wanted was someone who could be at peace with her in a warm cozy room sharing a pot of earl grey tea. 

That person had to exist out there.  


 


	4. For Friendship or More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet Lavellan and now the real fun can begin!

The gallery was dimly lit, emphasizing the cold brightness of the metal sculptures mounted on brightly colored canvasses around the room. The pulse of the gathering was a kinetic but harmonious symphony of wine being poured, glasses chiming for toasts, the constant offering of hor d'oeuvres, and talk of admiring the art (or at least pretending to). Amala Lavellan felt like she was rapidly paddling on an old fishing boat on top of it all.

She had, through the strength and tenacity of multiple Rivaini hair stylists, gotten her thick rope of dark brown hair into a braided bun atop her head. The look was gorgeous, and if she wanted she could probably hide many a small appetizer within the bun, but it felt very heavy on her already pounding head. The show was going well, it was, but the energy could change at any moment, if the wrong people came in or the right person left early. If there was not enough wine, food, socialites, pretty people…it was all a pendulum.

Dorian appeared before, looking her up and down for any imperfections. He stopped a waiter walking by to put his wine glass on their tray. The man’s tanned hands, glowing brighter than usual from a recent Antivan vacation, centered the front of her dress and tugged at the hem to straighten it. He took the glass back with a thanks and shook his head with irritated amusement.

“Lavellan,” he began, with the same warm but dignified air that smoothed all wrinkles and worries. “Can you please enjoy yourself? The blogs, twitters, or whatever these young people are proliferating their diatribes on love us, and they already are raving about this show. Please exhale, darling, and remember you look breathtaking.”

She smoothed her own hands over the black pleather dress that ran tight through her chest, cinched tighter at the waist, and remained constricting over her ass and to her knees. It was a thing of sin like beauty: sleeveless and with a high slight in the middle of it. She had a plan for this dress tonight, multiple ones actually.

“I know, I will get a drink and find a way to calm down. “

Dorian’s cheerfulness deflated when he spotted someone across the room. She looked in the same direction, and had to stop herself from throwing a plate of cheeses at him, like she had been dreaming of doing since she saw him here an hour ago. It was Gaspard, that dickhat. He looked downright brooding, but not in the sexy way, but in the furious and entitled wealthy Orlesian man way. It was an ill-advised one month fling that Lavellan had ended a week prior. He clearly thought he could change her mind by coming tonight. His mood had grown sour from Lavellan’s avoidance of him since he arrived. 

Dorian looked at her reproachfully. “Your boyfriend is sending serious serial killer vibes tonight. Lavellan, really, the man is scaring away patrons.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” she whispered darkly. “I will talk to him, OK?”

She walked away from Dorian only to find herself entrapped between the arms of Michel. He was wearing a leather messenger bag and still had the smell of the cool night air on him. She wanted to reprimand him for his forwardness, but the pinkness on his cheeks from rushing to her was adorable. 

She still backed out of his outstretched arms to eye him wearily. “You’re late.”

He frowned but lowered his head to speak directly in her ear. “My cab driver was Rivaini and had suspect grasp of Orlesian and Ferelden. My Rivaini is so-so, but if we spent more time together, it could improve.”

She eyed him coyly, walking backwards towards a certain someone she noticed waiting for her. "Oh, really? I’m sadly too busy now, but what are you doing later tonight?” She could practically feel Gaspard’s eyes lasering into her from across the room.

“I’ll be at the library, finishing up some dissertation work. I will also be nude.”

He followed her but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I have to get a delivery and if you haven't noticed run this show, but tonight, should I bring anything?”

“Your gorgeous body and a library card. Oh, and a thirst for knowledge!,” he called to her back.

When she finally got to Zevran, she crossed her arms haughtily. "You have my package?” she said impatiently. “It was supposed to be here this morning.”

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting. It was such a busy day,” he purred to her in the light melody of an Antivan accent.

She motioned down the hallway towards the end door. “Let me sign for it in my office then."

She barely had a chance to step more than a toe into the room before Zevran grabbed her face to roughly put his lips on her lips, jaw, neck, and the skin exposed by the opened sides of her dress. The slender but well-muscled man pushed her against her desk to hoist her up and wrap her legs around him.

There was a knock on the door, but it was familiar. “Lavellan, call on line 1!” Bull called through the door. She knew he must be snickering on the other side of the door. 

She grabbed the phone and pressed the correct button for a call she had no real interesting in taking. Zevran continued to work on whatever skin was available or easily accessed through her dress.

“This is, oh....ah...it’s Lavellan how can I…”

Gaspard’s heavily accented Orlesian accent cut through her mumbling. “Why are you doing this? Why are you sabotaging our relationship?”

She cradled the phone between her head and neck; her hands were busy in other places. “We are not in a relationship; we are in a situation.”

“I thought we had something special!”

“I’m sure your wife would say the same about your marriage,” she drawled tiredly. The phone was hung up after that to focus on other office tasks.

“You really are late,” she moaned as Zevran’s kisses becoming nips to her ears and lips. Her hands dug into his waist and underneath his shirt.

“I really was busy, my beautiful Dalish girl.”

“Well, now I’m busy.”

He caressed her inner thighs with fingers dancing in the space between them. “We best be efficient then.”

* * *

When she and Zevran exited her office, she tried her best to not look at Dorian. He was definitely going to give her a talking to, even though he had been the one who told her to calm down. The recent cardio left little to no tension in her body or mind. She went over to one of her favorite works in the gallery. It was different metals tangled up as though in an embrace, you couldn't tell where one began and one ended, a tangle of copper, Lavellan realized, looking at the tangled embrace, that its passion actually left her feeling empty in comparison.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the casual sex she had been having, but it wasn't exciting or thrilling her like it had in the past. She wasn't thinking marriage, not yet anyway, but she felt drawn towards a more emotionally rich romantic experience. Her mind, body, and spirit just felt like it was time for something different.

She was snapped out of her musings by a woman standing next to and also clearly eyeing her. The woman was shorter than her, with pale skin and blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. She would have initially thought the woman knew what she had done in her office and was passing judgement, but she knew that smile. It was a signal of romantic interest, but before she could respond, the woman was walking away. She gave Lavellan a backwards glance before wrapping her arm around the shoulder of another woman. She felt it then, a combustion of little sparks that filled her with both excitement and nervousness. 

Now that, that was something different.

* * *

 

Bull looked up from the mixing bowl in his hands. "Dorian, stop being so judgmental."

Lavellan watched Dorian's mustache twinge. He was not nearly done the lecture he was giving on how he felt about her current choice of action regarding her romantic life. They were supposed to having their typical BreakfastDad Sunday brunch. Bull, in his still award winning role of perfect boyfriend, would try and cure Dorian and Lavellan's hangovers with homemade breakfast and his semi-famous BloodyBull Mary's. The two bronzed beauties would just sit at the counter and watch the big Qunari work his magic for them. Dorian and Bull's apartment was a perfect representation of them, all of the the warm colors, antique furniture, and ornate wall hangings were clearly Dorian, while all of the big comfy couches and random shit littering the floor was Bull's. She usually witnessed them fighting about Bull's dirty laundry or Dorian leaving doorknobs greasy due to his skin oil regime. She was now witnessing an argument around the spectrum of sexuality.

The Tevinter man kept speaking animatedly to them both. "She thinks she can just poof fairy dust all the casual dick she's had for the past several years and cash it all in for a one and only type vagina."

Lavellan made a sound of offense. "Hey! I've been with women. I just haven't had a serious relationship with a woman, but I've barely had any serious relationships with men! I am ready to be in a more committed relationship and my gut is telling me it's going to be with a woman."

"Your gut? Or your bored libido?"

At that, Bull put down his mixing bowl, it was a rare occurrence but he actually looked angry. "What are you trying to say," he began, measuring his words out slowly. "That being bisexual doesn't exist? It's just being bored? Is that what you think I'm with you for?"

Dorian and Lavellan exchanged guilty looks. They had pushed their BreakfastDad too far. Lavellan tried to look discreetly away from Bull and Dorian as she sipped her drink.

Dorian rubbed his boyfriend's arm affectionately. "I'm being terribly judgmental, which you usually find entertaining, but I will stop," he said with a slow drawl of defeat. He got off the stool to search the nearby bookcase.

"What are you doing?" Lavellan asked, hopping off her own stool to join him.

"Your ad in the paper needs to be able to weed out some of the less compatible types. We are going to go with a literary quote," he began, intently reading down the book spines in front of him. "It needs to be something that gently but firmly portrays you as intelligent and soulful but also exciting and humble. It should make the reader feel like the quote was put there just for them, it must resonate and comfort."

She leaned next to the bookcase and whistled softly. "I don't know how can get all that with a quote."

"Why are you not just going online, Lavellan?" Bull questioned from behind them.

Lavellan smiled knowingly at him. "I wanna try something different first. Online dating is either super superficial or way too calculated. I want to put my energy out there and just see who connects with it."

Bull snickered and pressed a waffle. "You are so Dalish sometimes."

"Oh please, don't blame the Dalish, my family thinks I'm too earthy crunchy granola for my own good too."

Dorian grabbed books only to flop them on the floor. "That one's too obscure. That one's too erotic. That one's too old bitter man. That is too contrite..."

She didn't even try to wade into the pile of books he had created. He was bringing the same intensity to this quote search as he did everything at the gallery. She knew better than to get in his way. The last time she did he accidentally almost hit her in the mouth with a two by four. If not for yoga she would have never bent as far back as she needed to avoid a broken face. She sat herself back down at the counter to pour herself more beverage and get started on a waffle. Dorian was now sitting atop his pile of books like a literary genie.

"I found it!" he finally yelled, scrambling off his books to sit beside her. "Rilke, of course!"

She looked over the book, and realized she had actually read it. Dorian was far more of a literature connoisseur than her. She had always liked her art to be more visual or movement based.

"What's the quote then?" Bull asked, looking tickled by Dorian's passion. It was a contagious and common state for the man.

Dorian cleared his throat and read aloud. The quote was one she remembered. This was a good choice, it reflected what she was currently musing over in her life and would likely find someone who felt the same. Dorian knew her well, besides thinking this was about her being bored with penis.

He begun typing the quote out for the ad that was up on her laptop. "That looks good, and now we put before it 'For friendship or more'."

"What," Lavellan questioned in confusion. "I am not looking for friendship. I'm looking for..."

"The great love of all? I know, sweetheart." Dorian said, pattering her knee. "But with this you will get access to bi-curious ladies who might otherwise be too afraid to call."

"I guess," she said, feeling unsure still. "I just don't want to be pressuring anyone into anything or be a part of someone figuring out their sexuality. I mean that's fine if someone is...but I am sure and I want a serious relationship."

Dorian took her face in his hands and kissed both her cheeks. "Lavellan, if any girl on the fence about her sexuality sees you and doesn't immediately bulldoze said fence, she's straighter than a tight rope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a fashion nerd. So if you want to see the dress I was picturing on La vellan, here ya go: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/340514421800746027/
> 
> And comments please! Even just a hey hello hi howdy. 
> 
> Visit me! | http://inadequatematerials.tumblr.com/


	5. The Maker's Bread Crumbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I promise my next update will not be so long a wait; ideally I will be putting out a chapter every week if not every two weeks. The months of January and February rode on those newly confirmed gravitational waves straight into the black hole that is my job. I am back to the world of the actively living and excited to keep this going!
> 
> Thank you everyone who had commented, kudo-ed, and etc! Please comment if you're still reading this and kudo-ed (kudo as a verb? kudo as a past tense verb?). I just wanna know people are still reading and I should keep going since I had such a long hiatus!
> 
> Visit me! | http://inadequatematerials.tumblr.com/

"I don't understand all of these acronyms!" Merrill exclaimed; her nose was scrunched in confusion while her eyes squinted at the small type on the newspaper. Varric leaned in closer to her to see the personal ad in question; his eyes went wide with understanding.

He grimaced and gently tugged the paper from her hands. "Daisy, trust me, these have meanings your sheltered ears don't need to hear."

Varric and Merrill stood across from Cassandra where she sat at her desk faced towards them. She looked up from her own newspaper with brows raised. “Of course you know what they mean,” she said accusingly.

Merrill grabbed a side of the paper to pull it between them. "But I want to know! What If I see one I like but don’t know what they’re looking for?" The two of them hovered over the shared paper to continue their discussion. Varric tried his best to decode the more sexually suggestive terms with more innocent sounding translations.  

“So, eh, what this guy is trying to say is that he likes…balloons.”

“I love balloons! They’re so whimsical and you can play that game where you don’t let them hit the ground…”

“Well, he loves and plays with them in a different kind of way...”

Cassandra exchanged looks of amusement with Cullen and Josephine. They stood on either side of her with newspapers of their own. The month of dates she’d endured only further proved finding a wedding date, let alone serious partner, was more an arduous quest than a nice long walk on the beach. She had a fellowship at least; her co-workers had proven more than willing to set her up with people they knew. But, the actual people they set her up with made her believe they were punishing her for something, or didn’t know her at all.

She knew she was guilty of forgetting to bring pastries on her designated day for the office more than once. Yet the date with the accountant was just not a suitable punishment for a missed sesame seed bagel.

This meant Cassandra was not going to let herself be set up again anytime soon, but searching through personal ads was a fun pastime for the office. Her co-workers had started with them because they couldn’t search through online profiles or flick through photos on a smartphone app. Cassandra didn’t own a smartphone and was equal parts confused and horrified by social media. It wasn’t a huge surprise that an intense focused person who hated wasting time and had issues expressing emotion didn’t get the appeal of the internet.

Cassandra’s failure to embrace modern dating wasn’t only because of near technophobia. It was also due to being a hopeless romantic who believed romance needed poetry, hand written letters, flowers, and other acts of affection that were mostly absent in this age of digitally scheduled intimacy. It was Josephine’s idea to look at newspaper wanted ads. Her Antivan friend was a problem solver. She reasoned that if Cassandra wouldn’t go into the modern age she could at least be pushed hallway. The middle point between now and old fashioned was old school.

The newspaper personal ad section was middle ground for Cassandra. There was no judging someone based on a photo or profiles that were like advertisements. It wasn't likely she was going to call up a stranger in a newspaper ad, but it made her friends feel they were helping her without having to survive another set up date.

They each had their own strategy when reading the ads. Josephine read out most of them for consideration; the woman was their HR specialist. She just wanted everyone to be appreciated for their efforts, even if it meant defending an ad that consisted only of Nickelback lyrics. Cullen had the most discerning attitude; scoffing at anything he found too sentimental or pompous. The world was still wondering how the man had married a woman who made her living in professional theater.

The sound of Cullen snapping the paper tight brought everyone’s eyes up from their own reading. “This looks interesting…” he said quietly, bringing the paper closer to his face. “Ah, I take it back. It’s an obscure literary quote, how damned pretentious…”

Josephine reached her hand over Cassandra’s head to lightly push his shoulder. “Read it!” she encouraged.

Cullen smirked, but cleared his throat to begin reading it out loud. “It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case…”

Cassandra could scarcely believe it. Cullen was speaking the very words she had so recently been ruminating on. The words she had written down and tacked above her bed. She felt a spark come to life inside her; born from the steal of disbelief and flint of excitement.

Varric scratched his chin in contemplation. “Who wrote that? Freud?”

“Rilke” Cassandra interrupted, which she regretted as soon as everyone looked to her quick response in surprise. She waved her hand dismissively to feign uncertainty. “I think, but I am not sure. Who wrote the classified?”

Cullen’s eyes shifted down and he shrugged. “There’s no other information on the person, but actually this is woman seeking woman, never mind.”

A disappointment formed like a rock in her belly, but the nervous little flame was not snuffed out.

She sighed loudly and turned back to her desk. “I have so much left to do before the day is out. I need to focus.” she said. The group gave little nods and words of understanding before departing to their side of the office.

Cullen put his paper on the desk behind her that was currently not occupied by anyone. Her eyes were locked on where he had placed it and she wanted nothing more than to just grab it. Cullen turned to face her with a hand massaging his neck. Cassandra had gotten very good at reading Cullen after having lived with him for a year. The pale man’s already ruddy expression was getting redder by the second. He was about to say something she wouldn’t like.

“Wait, before I forget, you’re still coming to dinner next Saturday?”

Cassandra nodded, her eyes darting from his face to the newspaper behind him. “Yes, I am. I am still planning to bring a few bottles of wine and sparkling juice just for Afie.”

He nodded with a warm smile forming at his wife’s name. “Great, she’ll love that…hate the juice but love the gesture…and by the way Max is coming.” The last seven words he spoke so fast Cassandra could almost not understand them. Almost.

Cassandra rubbed her temple and groaned. “What?! Why, Cullen, why? He’s been so obnoxious lately.”

Cullen leaned closer to her with arms crossed. “Cass, I couldn’t invite everyone here and not him. Please, still come? You know he will be on his best behavior. He’s bloody terrified of Afie.”

“As he should be,” she stated with resignation. “I will be there, of course.” She had to keep herself from staring at the paper behind him. As much as she wanted to complain about Max she just wanted that damn paper.

As soon as Cullen left her space she scanned the other side of the office for anyone looking her way. She reached over and grabbed the paper from the desk. She felt like she was stealing something or acting as double agent. If someone appeared behind her she might start ripping the paper to shreds or swallow it whole. She knew there was nothing wrong in wanting to know more about this woman, but the implications of her interest were too much to confront with friends right now.

The ad had no additional details beyond what Cullen said, but Cassandra could tell from the area code of the phone number that they lived in the city. Her mind was a minefield of questions. What were the odds of this very passage appearing before her? It felt fated, and if this were a man, she would be nervous but still determined to meet him. Yet it was woman and that should have been the end of it, but the rapid beating of her heart was only matched by the heavy throbbing in her head.

She was having a panic attack because she wanted to go on a date with a woman.

It was too much to contemplate at 1:15 PM on a Monday. It wasn’t like she had never thought of being with a woman, but being very reluctant to casual dating had made her a habitual monogamist. She had only loved two people in her life, which meant she had only ever been intimate with two men. Cassandra Penaghast might have felt unsure about where she fell on the sexuality spectrum, but her belief in fate was unshakeable.

Her father always used to tell her to never ignore signs of fate; they were breadcrumbs left by the Maker directing one towards their destiny. This personal ad had to be fate, and it was beyond bread crumbs it was a damned baguette. The ad had said they were open to forming friendship, so why not contact them? It was never bad to make another friend.

She would have to keep repeating that to herself if she was going to get the courage to call.

Her fingers hastily typed the number down in her phone to then place the newspaper back where it was behind her. As much as Cassandra trusted her friends, she still was not prepared to discuss her possibly shifting sexual orientation with anyone.

She focused her attention back on the article she was editing, but her mind kept thinking of the woman and her ad. What was her personality? Was she witty? Was she serious? What did she look like? What did she do for a living? Would she not be interested in someone who had never been with women before?

Cassandra took a deep breathe to steady herself. She had to call this woman today otherwise she would just go mad with questions.

The Maker was either pointing her in the right direction, or toying with her for holy amusement, she would find out either way.

* * *

 

Lavellan looked at her phone with another internal sigh of frustration. Her date was officially forty minutes late and she was _officially_ on her second glass of wine. It wasn’t like she chugged the first glass, but one could only slip so slowly, especially when they were possibly getting stood up. Where in the hell was this Cassandra? _Oh Creators, am I actually being stood up?_

She took a sip for that depressing thought, and then decided it deserved a hearty gulp instead.

She knew she should have just ordered the damn cheese plate; this was a situation that called for copious amounts of fancy stinky diary. Lavellan had to balk at herself for even describing what she was waiting for as a “date.” When she had first heard Cassandra’s voicemail, she wasn’t even completely sure about calling her back.

_Hello, my name is Cassandra, I am calling about the ad you placed in the paper. I have read Rilke recently and also connected greatly with that passage. I am very busy these coming weeks, but if you are interested in meeting this Friday for a quick drink from 6 PM until 7 PM, please let me know._

Cassandra had sounded like a robotic telemarketer trying to convince Lavellan to invest in a time share. The strict one hour time slot she offered was like scheduling a meeting. Lavellan had put herself out there with a painstakingly chosen piece of literature and in exchange got a time limit without even the promise of a bowl of bar peanuts. Cassandra could have conducted a phone interview if she was going to put her through a screening process.

No matter how serious Cassandra seemed there was nervousness evident in how quickly she spoke. Lavellan excused the curt reply as understandable anxiousness about meeting a stranger. It was actually kind of endearing to her anyway. It helped that there was something about Cassandra’s voice that made Lavellan’s pulse quicken. Dorian had told her that it was the seductive Nevarran accent that was getting her, but she knew this wasn’t just attraction to exotic foreignness. Dorian could accuse her of projecting all he wanted, but she knew that was the voice of a complex and passionate woman.

Lavellan always was a sucker for the mysterious and broody type.

When she called Cassandra back she had hoped to learn more about her, but instead all she got was the name of a wine bar, an address, and description of having short brown hair and wearing a burgundy top. She should have been put off by the short response, but speaking to her only made her more intrigued. And, yes, hearing the accent in real time had been incredibly alluring. It was the accent combined with the slow and careful way Cassandra drew out each word. It had made Lavellan’s spine tingle and almost forget that this date was being scheduled like a teeth cleaning.

After confirming their meeting, she had spent too long with friends replaying the voicemail to sift out clues about Cassandra. Her friends were mostly all creative types; which meant there was far too much rabid and fantastical explanation. Sera’s suggestions involved Cassandra being a vampire, dominatrix, narc, or a whole deck of mostly aggressive occupations.

She didn’t give a flying fuck and a half if Cassandra was any of the above. The woman could be a fucking rock lobster as long as she showed up. Lavellan was a positive person, annoyingly so to even her closest friends and her mind was still trying to convince her not all was lost. _Maybe she is having as a hard time as you had getting ready! And you had the day off!_

She had spent hours trying to choose an outfit and that was after a night of her friends giving their suggestions. Sera thought Lavellan should wear her paint stained overalls or her see through gold leotard. Dorian refused to offer any advice on principle. He was no woman’s sassy gay fashion advisor. Blackwall looked at her like she must be completely zonked to ask his opinion in the first place. Iron Bull gave the best advice, _Wear the outfit that makes you feel like a badass motherfucker._

Lavellan grabbed at the amethyst pendant on her necklace, it was one of the five long golden necklaces she wore. They each had various stones or charms on them, and each possessed a different meaning to her that provided comfort. She kept hoping her outfit wasn’t too much or too little of anything. She wore her favorite floral maxi dress with a slit to the knee, revealing knee high clunky leather boots. Her hair was left down in its natural loose wave that reached to her mid-back. Lavellan liked her bohemian style, but after talking with Sera and Dagna she had reservations about being too feminine, too elfy, too earthy, and too artsy . The judgments they brought up made her more self-conscious than she had ever felt dating men. It’s not like she hadn’t heard these perspectives before on queer dating or felt them herself when casually seeing women. It just felt different with her desire to have a monogamous relationship with a woman. What if this Cassandra thought Lavellan was too all the things that she couldn’t really help being? She was halfway through the second glass of wine and overthinking leaving her hair down when she heard the door behind her open.

Her head turned to the sounds of the city being let into the small bar. She had to keep from throwing her hands up in a desperate cheer; the woman at the door had Cassandra. The woman who had just stepped into the bar had short brown hair and was wearing a burgundy button down shirt. The rolled up sleeves exposed toned arms while her straight black slacks emphasized a long and lean frame. Lavellan had not felt intimidated in romantic situations in a long while; Cassandra was making up for that. The woman was gorgeous solely based on her sharply angled cheekbones, perfectly squared chin, smooth olive complexion, and brown eyes matched by darker eyebrows and lashes.

Yet that wasn’t what caught Lavellan’s attention. Cassandra carried herself with such strength, poise, and control. Lavellan was big on intuition, and Cassandra’s commanding presence was only confirming that there was something special about her. It was right when Lavellan started wondering whether they would spend their first night together at her place that Cassandra turned to walk out the door.

“Hey!” Lavellan yelled at her back, perhaps too loudly for someone who was only ten feet from her.

Cassandra stopped in her tracks and turned to show a face of pure guilt.

_Yes, she just tried to ditch out after seeing me, but fuck this I’ve had two glasses of wine and the way she looks in a collared shirt is making me charitable._

She smiled from ear to ear at the clearly embarrassed woman. “Are you Cassandra? It’s me, Amala, but you can call me Lavellan.” She tried to make her shoulders sit straighter; inspired by Cassandra’s very correct posture.

Cassandra came up to her and extended a hand. “Yes, I am Cassandra. It is a pleasure to meet you and I apologize for my lateness…something came up at work.”

“That is totally fine,” Lavellan said, stilling radiating cheerfulness, she motioned to the stool next to her. “Please take a seat! You must be tired.”

Cassandra looked at her and then at the seat as though Lavellan was a stranger offering her a ride in a sports car in the middle of the night.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra sputtered suddenly without looking at Lavellan directly. “This was a mistake, and you are so beautiful and kind, please forgive me. This isn’t me.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door.

Lavellan threw money on the bar and followed Cassandra out. She didn’t have a plan, but creating one on the fly was a skill of hers. She knew she wasn’t being very rational, but frankly, no one had ever described her as the think first type.

Cassandra was desperately trying to hail a cab when Lavellan stood beside her. She put her flailing arm down upon noticing Lavellan beside her.

“What do you mean this isn’t you?” Lavellan asked with bemusement. She rested her hands on her hips and looked at her squarely.

Cassandra’s eyes stared at her hips and her face began to flush. “I am not…really gay. I mean, I could be gay, couldn’t we all? It is all labels anyway? Oh, what am I saying? I am a mess and you seem very not a mess. I don’t want to waste your time. I am so sorry for making you wait for me.” A cab pulled over and Cassandra opened the door.

Lavellan’s mind was scrambling for something to say that might comfort Cassandra. She understood the woman's trepidation, but she felt something, and it was realer than anything she felt in so long. It was not just attraction, but a connection.  What could she say to just have one conversation with Cassandra? Her head was just getting into the cab when Lavellan decided that there were no words. She instead took her purse and emptied it at Cassandra’s feet. Cassandra was already halfway in the cab but turned at Lavellan’s sound of distress. She made her own sound of concern and got out of the cab to help Lavellan.

“Oh shit! I can’t believe this!” she said in her best flustered voice. “I didn’t do yoga today and now I am just all over the place. I know I’m a cliché of a 30 something urbanite. Please forgive me.”

Cassandra’s slender fingers dropped Lavellan’s items in the purse between them. “No, please, it’s more than OK. You do yoga? I’ve always thought it was a very interesting practice.”

“Yeah, I do, for years and years. It really helps with everything in my life.” Lavellan said enthusiastically. “Do you do any kind of yoga?” Her purse was finally full of the items she spilled on the street; they both stood up.

Cassandra handed Lavellan the purse and shook her head. “No, I can’t sit still and breathe for that long. It would drive me mad. I do exercise but mostly running, kickboxing, and things like that. I am not so good with stillness.”

Lavellan let out a small chuckle. “How do you sleep then?”

Cassandra smirked; it was the first positive expression she’d shown. ”Oh, I’m a terrible insomniac.”

A dark sense of humor Lavellan could appreciate. “Damn, how long?”

Cassandra continued smirking. “Since birth,” she said dryly.

Lavellan laughed loudly. She knew Cassandra had a sense of humor underneath the stern expression. 

The rough voice of the cab driver cut through the moment they were having. “Hey lady, are you going to get in this cab or not?”

Lavellan slung her purse on her shoulder and motioned to the bar. “One drink? That’s all, between friends.”

Cassandra’s smirk turned into a softer smile. She gave an apology to the cab driver and closed the car door. “Yes, a drink. I should have just sat down. I am sorry for my outburst.”

Lavellan began walking back to the bar; feeling the need to fist pump and holding back just slightly. “Don’t apologize for being true to your feelings; I just hope you don’t mind I followed you.”

Cassandra snickered. “I made you wait nearly an hour and then attempted to desert you in front of your face. I half expected you to curse me out in the street. Let’s just agree I won’t nearly stand you up again and the next time I act so foolish…I mean if there is a next time…”

Lavellan held the door open to the bar for Cassandra and raised an eyebrow at her nervous rambling.

“Why don’t we get through a drink and then we can worry about you ditching me again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff will be picking up from here! And, uh sorry to plug again, but please comment if you can! Even if it is just: "I read the thing and would like to continue reading this thing." It lets me know people are actually still reading, which I really gotta know, cause writing for myself is great but writing for other people means I put more effort into things such as grammar and timeliness. I also love any feedback, opinions, or suggestions!
> 
> And if anyone wants to beta for a queer love story, please let me know! Thank you. (:


	6. Connect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! After a super very long hiatus due to, well, life. I left my career job at the end of last Spring after realizing my work environment was unhealthy. I was only there ten months, but it took a lot of my life force and self worth. I finally did the thing where I quit in a blaze of glory and then was a barista for the summer. Yes, this happened but this was no CW type of life choice, being a barista at a hip cafe where you're also expected to be on food line occasionally is kind of hell (but my fellow workers/friends were great).
> 
> I took the summer to get my head together and am now back in a career job where people treat me with the respect and kindness we are all due. Moral of the story: If you financially can make it work, leave work environments that are emotionally abusive and or just not good for your mental health. As a twenty something, I internalized that I was just too sensitive and needed to stick it out since I should be grateful to have a position in my field when they are hard to come by. It's in looking back I realize all the harm I did to my well being.
> 
> But anyway, back to the 90's romcom Dragon Age rendering. I was working on these chapters for months and finally had the time to finish em' up the best I could! I got some replies last time about beta's, but I am putting out the call again if anyone is interested in reading over my work! Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors in advance. 
> 
> For anyone still reading, thank you. <3

It was difficult for Cassandra to recall the last time she shared an evening with a stranger and didn’t consider crawling through a bathroom window after the first ten minutes. She had spent an hour with Lavellan without once thinking she should try to induce vomiting as an excuse for an early departure. It was truly something for the personal dating record book.

Cassandra searched her mind for why she wasn’t trying to discreetly hit the back of her throat with a straw.  It wasn’t the wine, but she thought it could be the intimacy of the bar. The small basement, formerly an underground train stop, made for loud acoustics and lighting so low it required a cell phone to see the menu. It left patrons with little choice but to be practically on top of the person they wanted to speak with if they wanted to see or hear them.  Whatever the reason, Cassandra found herself more at ease with Lavellan than anyone else she’d been set up with in the last two years.

Lavellan practically knew all of this after an hour with Cassandra. She didn’t know Cassandra felt better with her than previous dates, but she did know what a failure the whole process had been lately. She knew this because Cassandra had spent the larger part of their time together detailing her dating woes.

They had spent the first thirty minutes of their times together detailing their jobs and what brought them to Skyhold. Lavellan had attended University in Minrathous, and after several years living and working as an art dealer, found the environment too traditional and elitist for what she wanted in an artistic community. Cassandra was surprised to find out Lavellan owned an arts venue that her own paper had covered years ago, it had caused quite the stir with its name: The Heretics. The name was made more scandalous, to the less satirically inclined, because it was so titled and owned by a Dalish elf from an isolationist clan and former member of the Tevinter aristocracy.

Cassandra’s own life seemed boring by comparison, though Lavellan had seemed genuinely interested in her work as an editor for one of the last newspaper agencies in the city. It was a gift that the woman could transition their conversation from the merits of print over digital to Cassandra’s love life. It made Cassandra want to recruit her as a reporter.

Lavellan scoffed, the golden hoops in her ears dazzling in the light. “So, wait, did he count it by item and their domestic value price? He could have also done it by the portion you ate. But that’s some bullshit because if you’re going to eat all the raspberries and goat cheese and I only ate the leafy greens...”

Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t know what he was basing it on. I saw the calculator and blacked out from shock, maybe rage, by the time I came out of it I was walking home and missing a hundred dollars.”

Lavellan appeared more shocked at the mention of the calculator than his behavior. “Like, a real calculator? Like the graphing kind?”

“Yes!” Cassandra shouted, laughing at Lavellan’s face of horror.

“I know he was an accountant, but to carry that around, did he bring a briefcase? Was it in his pocket? Those things were pretty big; where the hell did he keep that thing?”

Cassandra was still amused, but looked at the woman pointedly. “Why does the calculator fascinate you more than him wanting to evenly split down to the last pecan?”

Lavellan put her hand to her chest. “Oh, please, I am in shock and awe over it all. I just get stuck on details like that, maybe it’s the curator in me, but I am all about that weird little shit.”

Cassandra grinned. “No, you are right, no detail is too small. He didn’t have a briefcase. It was in his back pocket.”

Lavellan started breaking down how she analyzed the man’s personality based on the calculator being in his back pocket versus a briefcase. She was making what had seemed a trauma for Cassandra now a farce she was glad to have experienced for the story.

It wasn’t like she’d planned to talk about her dating woes with Lavellan, but she felt like an old friend. She had an openness and honesty about her that was refreshing. She kept conversation flowing with a steady stream of interesting but non-intrusive questions.  Cassandra felt jealous of what she was sure was Lavellan’s natural way with all people she met. There were people who’d known Cassandra for years that probably did not feel as comfortable with her.

Cassandra didn’t feel completely comfortable. The butterflies in her stomach reminded her that this was not a purely platonic outing. The ease of talking with Lavellan was met if not surpassed by unbelievable nervousness. Were her nerves due to actual attraction? Or was it just the situation she found herself in: On a date with a woman trying to figure out if she was attracted to women?

_Anyone would feel excited and nervous around Lavellan. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and charming. It could be admiration._

Lavellan was beautiful, in a way that was more interesting than conventional. Her dark brown hair cascaded in tousled waves from her shoulders to almost her waist. It was the kind of hair that Cassandra’s mother had tried so hard to keep on Cassandra. Lavellan’s complex was a dark russet with a brass undertone, unlike Cassandra’s olive and gold.

Her face was strong and striking. She had a long nose, pointed chin, rounded cheeks, and large eyes under straight thick brows. Her most notable feature, to Cassandra at least, was her top lip. It had no indent, but instead, was completely rounded and smooth.  It was the romantic in Cassandra, she had always been most attracted to people by their mouths. What they looked like. How they moved. What they felt like.

Lavellan laughter shook Cassandra from her rambling train of thought. Her laughter was an infectious thing; the way it rolled without a pause for air, and was followed by two hands over her mouth.

She took her glass and tipped it slightly towards Cassandra. “That guy owes you money. I have friends. I can call in a favor. They’re mostly artists but some of them have very scary power tools at their disposal.”

Cassandra chuckled. “No, it is fine. I would have paid more for it to have never happened in the first place.” She sighed heavily. “I hate dating.”

Cassandra was displaying the kind of neurosis that every friend, family member, and short lived therapist had described as self-destructive. The detailing of her dating woes to the person she was originally supposed to be on a date with was textbook self-sabotage. She was also frantically trying to figure out whether she wanted this to be a date while being scared that Lavellan had no romantic interest in her.

Cassandra was unsure about wanting to be with Lavellan, but she certainly did not want Lavellan to not want her.

But why would Lavellan want anything to do with her? Lavellan was, as her mom would put it, the kind of woman who likely had a full dance card. She could have her pick of anyone. Cassandra didn’t have low self-worth, but she knew that she was more than most likely wanted to deal with. She was intense, blunt, and unrelenting at times.

Lavellan would surely found Cassandra to be too much...Cassandra...for her liking.

Lavellan was, from what Cassandra could deduce from an hour, not a difficult person. She was warm, energetic, and easy going. She went after Cassandra like she did which could only mean she was exceptionally forgiving. She had started describing to Cassandra the last horrible date she had been on, it involved a fishing trip on a rinky dink boat.

“He had heard my clan was known for its fishing,” Lavellan said. “He whips out these fishing poles with a big smile on his face. I’ve been a vegetarian since I was thirteen!”

Cassandra groaned. “Why would he make such an assumption?”

Lavellan’s face stayed bereaved. “It’s so hard for shemlen men and even city elves to realize the Dalish are not just walking talking relics of the past. I can just see the disappointment when Dalish girls don’t live up to their fantasies. I could tell from the look on his face that he thought he was going to get the full elven goddess experience.”

“I can only imagine what you go through. Ignorance only seems to take new forms as the ages go on. I get some of my own fetishizing, being Nevarran, but it can’t compare.”

Lavellan sighed with knowing. “Do people ask you to speak Nevarran to them?”

She nodded. “Yes, that most of all. I usually comply.”

Lavellan’s eyes beamed. “So, how do you insult them?”

“I usually saying something about them probably terrible in bed.”

Lavellan giggled. “Yes! I do the same. Except I just string a bunch of random Dalish words together. They don’t know the difference.”

Cassandra joined with her own laughter. She was pleased Lavellan enjoyed dry humor and sarcasm. Lavellan was witty, but also silly, it was an endearing zaniness.

Lavellan stopped giggling and looked at Cassandra intently, like she was gearing up to ask her something.

“What are you looking for in a man? Besides not being an ignorant ass.”

“I don’t know if I’m looking for anything in particular,” Cassandra stammered. She stared at the bottom of her glass like it was hiding something.

“Come on! Give me the dream list: personality, hobbies, body hair percentage, anything at all.”

“Fine,” Cassandra replied. “I want someone that is smart, funny, and who has faith.”

Lavellan stayed nonplussed. “That’s not a tall order. I mean besides the faith. I’m thinking you mean Andrastian?”

Cassandra shook her head, “I want smart as in trying to know things to better oneself and the world, not smart like learning just to feel superior. Oh, and humor, that is a hard one! I want clever funny but not pretentious. I want funny that isn’t about proving how funny they are. As for faith, that one is the hardest. I am Andrastian and I’m the never miss a Sunday in the Maker’s house kind.  But I don’t need someone to be of my faith, they just need a faith in a greater purpose for themselves with values I align with...well that is a different conversation.”

Lavellan’s eyes widened as the description continued. “That is a fine specimen you are describing, but what about the physical? Tall? Skinny? Muscular? Beard?”

“I become physically attracted to people based on how we connect, and no body shape or hair percentage can predict that for me.”

Lavellan’s hands gathered her long hair behind one ear while her eyes looked shyly away.  It was only a couple seconds, but Cassandra thought she saw a tender awkwardness behind her actions. She was surprised to feel so happy at the thought.

Lavellan stared back at Cassandra with her previous confidence. “I know you said you had something to go to at 8:00 and its 8:20. I’m sorry if I made you late! Should you be going?”

“I had nothing to get to. I lied just in case…” Cassandra sputtered out.

Lavellan interjected. “You needed to escape the weirdo you tried to meet through a personal ad? I know this great Riviani place down the street if you’re interested.”

Cassandra nodded but a frown formed. “Yes, I would like that. But you don’t have to spend your night who had a near nervous breakdown in the street.”

Lavellan rose from her stool the moment Cassandra said yes. She slung her purse over her shoulder and gestured to the door. “People have public nervous breakdowns in this city every day. It’s all a part of the urban experience. I once cried at every stop on the green line with no pause in between.”

Cassandra wanted to apologize again for her apology, but held back. She followed Lavellan outside where she then watched the woman trying to hail a taxi with her whole body in the street.

Lavellan must have noticed the worried expression on Cassandra's face, because she looked back at her with a smile. “I know it looks dangerous, and it probably is, but if I get hit at least I can pay off my student debt!”

Lavellan whooped excitedly when a cab stopped in front of them. “In under thirty seconds! That’s a personal record.”

Cassandra got into the cab after Lavellan. The feeling of Lavellan’s body next to her own made the butterflies want to escape out of her throat. She tried to focus on something besides Lavellan’s long legs peeking from the slit in her dress. She noticed, as she had seen in the bar, that Lavellan had tattoos on her wrists. They looked like bangles with different etchings.  

“Looking at my tattoos?” Lavellan asked.

“Yes, I am sorry I didn’t mean to stare,” she replied apologetically.

Lavellan held her wrists closer to Cassandra. “It’s OK. I like talking about them with friends. They are different patterns you’d find in Dalish fabrics and items, specifically my clan.  I chose to not do a Vallassin. I wanted to honor my culture, but in my own way. They’re on my wrist so no one will think I’m ashamed of being Dalish.”

“How did you choose what patterns?”

“You’ll have to wait for that story. The actual pattern meanings are very personal and sacred for my clan.”

Cassandra felt her face flush with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have asked. I am sorry.”

Lavellan patted Cassandra’s hand beside her. “No need to be sorry. It is just something to look forward to as we got to know each other better.”

Cassandra thanked the Maker in that cab and promised to thank him again that Sunday. That sentence had made her face flush harder than her mother’s favorite red sauce recipe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are grand but comments are wondrous! <3


	7. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switch after the line break!

“You don’t believe in the Maker?”

Cassandra had received two differing opinions on bringing up religion on first dates. Her friends told her it was inappropriate. While her parents adamantly felt that no date should even be set without a full detailing on one’s interactions with the church.

She could almost hear her parent’s anxious questioning. _Where were they baptized? What denomination? Does he follow the white divine or the black divine? How often do they attend service?_

Lavellan, the one who started the conversation in the first place, innocently shrugged. “I don’t NOT believe in the Maker.”

Cassandra grabbed an olive to pop it in her mouth while narrowing her eyes.

Lavellan put a hand up in defeat. “I’ll stop toying with you. If I must give myself a label then I identify as spiritual with values heavily informed by Dalish heritage and culture.”

“What does that mean exactly? I am not trying to be superfluous.”

Lavellan smirked. “You like things to be clear...I can get that. I grew up on a Dalish reservation, and had a Keeper, observed Dalish holidays, and was surrounded by our Gods, stories, and everything everywhere.  But, not everyone in a clan is a hundred percent ‘I believe in all the old ways.’ It’s not too different from how folks here can grow up in an Andrastian society, and may not be devout or even following, but they still have all those messages and holidays that shape their life.”

Cassandra’s face reflected understanding. “What was your family like?”

“My Grandmother was our Keeper most of my life,” she said, sounding wistful. “My family was more serious about upholding tradition, but it made sense, we’ve lost so much and my family has always been a strong pillar of the community. They let me decide for myself though, freedom of thought is big for my clan.”

“I can appreciate that,” Cassandra began, snickering lightly. “Freedom of thought is not a phrase my parents entertained about most things.”

Lavellan laughed softly but her eyes turned serious. “I love and cherish traditional elhven religion, but I just don’t believe in one religion over the other. I believe there is a life force, something bigger than us all, where we all come from and go back to. It’s complicated. I might need more time and less wine to explain.”

“I understand, it makes sense to me,” Cassandra replied quickly to assure Lavellan.

Lavellan snorted. “You don’t have to lie! That was rambling.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It does! The confusion on my face comes from how different my household was.”

“You did mention that. How did that play out? You don’t come off as someone who would be subservient to their parents.” Lavellan asked, eyebrows raised mischievously.

Cassandra smiled knowingly. “Yes, that must be obvious. I had many a disagreement with my parents. They wanted to raise me as a traditional Nevarran woman of a higher station. That kind of woman is demure, dependent, and a symbol of tradition. My parents have little left of their homeland but memories and tradition...I try to tread lightly where I can.”

Lavellan’s voice softened, “Did you parents come after the war?”

Cassandra did not typically talk with anyone abot her family’s escape from Nevarran, but Lavellan made it easier to speak about. “They actually fled during the war. They thought the President would peacefully concede power. It was a shock to them when he didn’t; they realized quickly anyone who had supported the opposing candidate would be in danger.”

Lavellan’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, I know that phrase is empty sometimes, but I do mean it.”

Cassandra shook her head, she was not ready to go deep into her family history. “Thank you. I understand, but we had more than most. We had a Nevarran community to embrace us here. My father was back practicing law in two years’ time. We had privileges of class that many others did not.”

Lavellan nodded. “That is amazing perspective; good looks and wisdom, why do you have trouble finding a good date again?”

Cassandra shook her dismissively. “Because I bring up religion and civil war in polite dinner conversations”

“No, that was all me. Thank you for not playing by the rules of social etiquette,” Lavellan said. She grabbed the bill on the table and put down cash.

She passed the bill to Cassandra who put down her half of the bill.  “I have never been one for them. It drives my mother mad.”

Lavellan rubbed her hands together excitedly. “You’ve got the momma drama! I usually have the rows with my father. And by rows, I mean heated discussions with no hurtful language but plenty of hurt feelings.”

“But,” Lavellan continued, finishing the wine in her glass with a flourish of her hand. “that is enough talk of family.”

Cassandra got up from her seat. “Thank you for taking me here. I have heard such good things but always forget to come. Would you like to go to the park down the street? Get some ice-cream?” She wasn’t ready for the night to end.

Lavellan looked surprised but pleased at the invitation. “I can never say no to ice cream on a nice night like this. But, the ultimate question, Toscanini’s or Mr. Freezies?”

 

* * *

 

 

Lavellan handed Cassandra a strawberry cone. She was surprised that Cassandra even ate ice-cream, her body was so toned and the woman had somehow resisted the second helping of bread on their table at dinner. She had assumed no unnecessary carbs or sugar entered that body.

They had playfully argued during the ten-minute walk over where to go. There was Toscanini’s, the fancy micro-creamery, or the neighborhood relic known as Mr. Freezy’s ice-cream truck. Toscanini’s was good, there was no denying it, but soft serve out of an old timey truck was a magic all its own.  

Cassandra argued that her newspaper had covered several health violations at Mr. Freezy’s.  She had countered that these food inspectors likely had their pockets lined with urban developer cash bribes. Cassandra had easily conceded after seeing the line out the door for Toscanini’s. Lavellan deduced Cassandra was more opposed to gentrification and long lines than food poisoning.

“I would not have initially taken you for a strawberry fan,” Lavellan said, slowly licking where the ice cream dripped on her hand. She noted that Cassandra somehow kept her ice-cream from dripping on herself. She felt a complete mess beside her.

“I tend to surprise people with my tastes.”

“Oh, really,” Lavellan sang, eyeing Cassandra impishly. “This sounds interesting, please tell me more.”

Lavellan could feel Cassandra’s hand brushing next to her own as they walked. This would be the perfect moment to hold her hand. They were in the third part of their outing and walking around a park with ice-cream. Could it get more picturesque?

She let her hand stop in Cassandra’s palm to give her the opportunity.  Cassandra’s fingers flitted on her palm, but they pulled back after a second.

Lavellan noted the redness on Cassandra’s neck, sighing inwardly.

Cassandra pressed forward with their conversation. “Where do I begin, alright, I have a deep love for romance novels. The good, the bad, and the very very terrible.”

Lavellan dog whistled and motioned to a bench they could sit on. “Oh, trashy romance novels? How did that start?” She could swear a twinkle appeared in Cassandra’s eye as she sat next to her.

“I found my mother’s collection when I was ten and it was right around when I was starting to have my own romantic yearnings. My family was very conservative, so these novels, they were my escape. It was the beginning of me being a romantic through and through.”

“A romantic? I figured.” Lavellan replied, taking a quick bit of her cone as she spoke. “I don’t think you’re like a gumdrops and glitter romantic. You’re like...boldness, passion, emotional rawness...that kind, right?”

“You’ve figured that out after a couple hours,” Cassandra asked softly, not looking directly at her.

Lavellan leaned forward to catch her eye. “It’s been more than couple hours. I would say we’ve spent three hours together. And to think you tried to ditch me.”

Cassandra finally looked her in the eye. “I don’t know why you came after me, but thank you. I haven’t had this much fun with someone in a long time.”

A stillness came between them, the first since they had started their evening. Lavellan leaned a bit closer. Cassandra’s eyes closed and Lavellan could feel her heart about to burst from her throat. She closed her own eyes and waited.

She heard Cassandra clear her throat, puzzled, she opened her eyes. Cassandra was sitting back against the bench staring at the park’s marble fountain. The heat of embarrassment flooded Lavellan’s face and she sat back up.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said. She groaned and put her head in her hand.

Lavellan stopped herself from putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. You said you weren’t sure. I understand. Do you feel more sure about, well, whether you might like women? Or a woman ever?”

Cassandra took her face from her hands. “I just don’t know and it’s not fair to you. If you were a man I would have...gone for it. That must mean something, right?”

“I think only you can know that,” Lavellan said, barely above a whisper. She felt her tear ducts activating. She was such an idiot getting emotional over a woman she just met. Why did this hurt so much?

Lavellan got up from the bench and extended her hand to Cassandra. Cassandra put her in hers and she gave it a firm shake.

“It was fantastic to meet you, really. I wish you the best.” She turned on her heel and started speed walking to the next subway entrance. She could hear Cassandra following her.

“Wait,” Cassandra called to her, catching up as they exited the park. “That’s it? We can’t be friends?”

Lavellan stopped suddenly and held the straps of her purse in a nervous death grip. “We could, but it would be terrible, because I could really fall for you. I know I am already starting to. It would only lead to me pining for you like an idiot.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak but Lavellan put her hand up. “I’ve been here before, waiting around for someone to feel about me the way I feel about them. I can’t do that again to myself. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to punish you.”

Cassandra ran a hand through her hair, clearly embarrassed by Lavellan’s honesty. “No, I know you’re not. I just wish we could be friends. Please call me if you change your mind.”

Lavellan walked backwards a couple steps and nodded her head. “Likewise.”

She continued briskly away from Cassandra without a second glance. The rock she carried in her stomach grew to her throat. Was she a complete fool? She could have stayed friends with Cassandra and maybe she would have changed her mind! But Lavellan only had to spend a couple moments ruminating to realize how tragic that would be. She couldn’t be someone’s second fiddle again. She couldn’t.

As she descended the subway stairs she felt the buzz of her phone. She grabbed it from her purse to see a txt from Dorian.

_D: How did it go? Is the voice as alluring in person?_

She let her head rest against the subway sweat and began texting him back.

_L: Better. She was amazing. Best date I ever had. And now I will likely never see her again._

It took only a second for Dorian to respond, and in her romance gloom, she felt grateful for friendship.

_D: This calls for brunch tomorrow. You bring the OJ. I have the champagne._

Friendship and champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if I should keep this going . <3


End file.
